


Written in Blood

by IgnobleBard



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dominance, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slashy Santa Swap 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/pseuds/IgnobleBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel teaches Legolas some manners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written in Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bernadette

Plot Request: bdsm, knifeplay, set in Mirkwood, some kind of gift to Glorfindel.

~***~

Glorfindel's eyes lit with awe when he saw the gift King Thranduil presented to him. The knives were long and thin, fashioned of a mithril alloy, with Glorfindel's name engraved upon the blades and a detailed scrimshaw image of the Last Homely House on the mûmak-ivory handles.

Legolas, standing next to his father's throne, looked upon the gift with jealousy and wrath. He had asked many times for just such a set of fighting knives but Thranduil had scoffed at him, saying he needed no finery to kill Orcs and spiders. And now, to give them to this Glorfindel, an emissary from Imladris, just to ingratiate himself to Lord Elrond and the Noldor? It was more than he could stomach!

"A fine gift indeed," he said scornfully, "especially to one who has never rendered aid to the Greenwood in times of peril."

Glorfindel looked at him in surprise, a blush of red staining his cheeks. "We seek to mend that fault, Prince Thranduilion. It is why I have come."

Thranduil turned a scowl to Legolas, though his words were addressed to Glorfindel. "Please forgive my son who, despite his princely rank, has the manners of a common warrior. I see now that more of his education should have been devoted to diplomacy and less to knife work."

Legolas returned his father's scowl with one of his own. "You call me common, yet the Noldor laugh at us over their wine for our woodland ways. You who hide your people within the Greenwood and lust after riches like a Dwarf, you who have not the courage and vision to expand your influence in Middle-earth as Lord Elrond has done, dare speak to me as if I was no more than one of your foot soldiers?" He turned to Glorfindel and made a mocking formal bow. "And now, Elf Lord, you may carry back to Rivendell both keen blades and keen humor for your lord's amusement."

Both Thranduil and Glorfindel looked at him for a moment in stunned silence. Not only were the prince's words inflammatory, but to call Imladris "Rivendell" in the common tongue was a breach of protocol unheard of among Elves. When King Thranduil found his voice at last, his words were clipped with restrained rage.

"Since you insist upon behaving as basely as a novice warrior, rather than a prince of the realm, you will be treated as such. Two days hence you will undergo the Gauntlet of Knives. Until then, you will be confined to the stockade for your insolence." Thranduil raised his hand and two guards stepped forward and escorted the pale, and now wisely silent, prince from the hall.

Thranduil gave Glorfindel a strained little smile. "I hope this unfortunate incident does not sully the relationship we seek to build with Lord Elrond."

Glorfindel's eyes glittered wickedly but he returned Thranduil's smile and made a formal bow, his hand over his heart. "Not at all, my dear King Thranduil, but tell me, what is this 'Gauntlet of Knives'?"

Legolas leaned against the stone wall of the large cell that served as the stronghold's stockade. It was made to house many prisoners and was part of the dungeons, now no longer used as such, that had been built with the fortress. His father kept the dungeons maintained against the days when they might again be needed, but in this time of Watchful Peace the only prisoners to see them were warriors of the Greenwood who were being punished for one infraction or another. Legolas was the only one locked up at the moment and the only one to have been sent to the stockade in more than forty years.

Now, having had time to reflect and cool his temper, Legolas feared he may have at last pushed his father too far. Theirs had always been an uneasy relationship at best, which after his mother sailed to Valinor had only grown more strained with the passage of the years. When Thranduil had told him an ambassador from Imladris was coming he had raised his voice at the banquet table, causing Thranduil to assign him to three weeks kitchen duty. That was a small thing compared to the impudence of letting his words run freely in front of the self-same honored guest. Legolas shuddered at the thought of the fate awaiting him.

The Gauntlet of Knives, a warrior initiation ceremony learned from their more primitive Silvan kin and no longer practiced, was a blood ritual meant to bond the new warrior with his more experienced fellows, testing his trained reflexes and demonstrating to all how well he could take the pain of battle. The initiate was required to run naked between two columns of trees where his comrades waited in the branches above. As he ran, the warrior Elves would swing down from the trees on hithlain and slice at the initiate. If the Elf was quick, he could avoid some of the blows, but no one could avoid them all and the warriors did not hold back.

In the days when the ceremony was part of the warrior's training, some of the initiates were lost from the severity and depth of the wounds they received. It was considered common wisdom that a warrior who could not make it through the gauntlet was unworthy to protect the Greenwood and was denied even a funeral with a warrior's honors. Now Legolas found himself facing the very real possibility he might be sent unceremoniously and without glory to the Halls of Mandos. For though he was much more experienced than a novice, he knew his father would choose only the best to test him, and with the preparations for Glorfindel's visit he had not had a proper workout in many weeks.

The next two days passed so slowly for the prince he was certain his father must have extended his dungeon time before the ceremony. He had been given a skin of water but no food, which was no more hardship than he sometimes encountered while on patrol, but he found the endless minutes with no company save the gruesome imaginings of his thoughts to be very trying indeed. And yet when the guards appeared at last to collect him and escort him to the ritual purification bath, it seemed then his time had come too soon.

Legolas entered the empty bathing chamber that had been prepared for him and stripped off his clothes, glad for the chance to wash away the stale smell of the dungeon. He took in the items laid out for him, oils, strips of leather for his braids, and a silver dagger.

Following the ancient purification ritual, he immersed himself in a pool of steaming hot water and followed it by a plunge into a cold pool. He said a chant over the oil and worked it into his skin, then braided his hair in the style of a novice, two braids on either side of his head, plaited halfway then pulled back into a longer braid that ran the length of his hair behind, leaving the rest loose and flowing. He took up the silver dagger and cut a few hairs from the end of his braid; tossing them into a brazier and watching them hiss and burn. Then he nicked the middle finger of his left hand and drew the first letter of his name in blood on the center of his chest while chanting the ancient words of protection.

He stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar Silvan words and when he finished, he sucked briefly at his finger, grimacing slightly at the sour tang of his blood. Then he sat cross-legged on a bench, clearing his mind and meditating, preparing himself mentally for the challenge to come.

Finally, all ritual and preparation complete, he exited the bathing chamber to face the waiting guards. Head held high and proud, he walked with them through the stronghold, out past the practice grounds, and into the woods. There they were met by King Thranduil, who looked upon his son with a jaded eye.

"Have you used your time wisely, my son?" he asked.

Legolas bit back the retort that rose to his lips and inclined his head respectfully. "I have father." he answered with unaccustomed humility.

Thranduil's demeanor softened slightly at Legolas' words and he graced him with a rare smile.

"I am glad to hear it," he said, placing a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Since your manners appear to have improved since your time in the stockade, I am prepared to offer you a choice."

Legolas felt a flush of anger color his face and he glared at Thranduil, his show of amity dissolving like a grain of sugar in bitter tea, leaving no trace of its sweetness behind.

"What new trickery is this?" he demanded furiously. "What choice?"

Thranduil had reached the limit of his own fragile patience and his eyes flashed as he shot back, "I have discussed your situation with Glorfindel and we had decided to make you a proposal..."

At the mention of Glorfindel, a firestorm of rage ignited in Legolas' heart. He lunged at his father but was seized and held by the guards as he shouted, "You and the Noldo have decided together to offer me a choice?! What right has he to propose anything for me, to interfere with the business of the Greenwood? If you wish to become Lord Elrond's lapdog by way of his arrogant emissary, so be it. But I will not bow to Imladris, nor will I be pawn to your twisted whims!"

By the time Legolas finished his speech, he was shouting so loudly that the singing trees surrounding them stilled to vigilant silence. The outburst sparked Thranduil's own considerable temper and he shouted to his guards. "Bring him!"

He stalked off and the guards wrestled the struggling prince after him into the trees. They came to a place where two sturdy young trees grew like twins, side by side, and Thranduil turned to his guards.

"Bind him between the trees."

The guards proceeded to obey their king while the furious prince cursed and fought them. He nearly succeeded in breaking free but it was Thranduil himself who struck a blow to the side of his head, stunning him long enough for the guards to stretch and secure him to the strong, slender young trunks. Once bound, Legolas fell silent at last, fuming but helpless.

"And so you have made your choice," Thranduil said angrily, "You lack both discipline and respect and since I have been remiss in teaching you these standards of a true prince of the realm, Glorfindel has kindly consented to educate you."

"I would rather run the gauntlet a thousand times than submit to that duplicitous Noldo." Legolas snapped.

"My intention was to offer you a choice between running the gauntlet or submitting to Glorfindel, but I see there is no other option than to allow Glorfindel the chance to tame your fiery spirit. This lesson has been too long in coming and I pray that you learn from him what you could not from being born a prince and having every advantage possible."

He turned and marched away, taking the guards with him, and Legolas stared after him in shocked silence. Submit to Glorfindel? Never! Let the Noldo and his father do their worst. He would never surrender. If Glorfindel thought he could break him, let him try, Legolas thought as he struggled unsuccessfully in his bonds, it would be the golden emissary, not he, who would be the one to yield.

He called out softly to the trees to bend a little so that he might have the slack he needed to free himself, but the young trees ignored him and instead whispered to each other that it felt like there would soon be snow.

Before Legolas had time to make any further plea or protest, Glorfindel appeared from the surrounding forest. He was dressed only in a pair of worn leggings and had his knife scabbards strapped to his back, the strap running diagonally across his smooth, powerfully muscled chest. His feet were bare and his long golden locks were done up in the braids of a Noldo warrior. Surrounding him was an aura of silver-blue light that shone in the dark forest like a star come to earth, and Legolas' eyes nearly leapt from his head to see him emerge from the woods like an ancient Elven fighter from before the dawn of the First Age - primitive, feral, and devastatingly lethal.

Glorfindel strode up to Legolas and looked him up and down, his expression amused and hungry. Legolas lowered his eyes, unable to meet those of the beautiful warrior, his body red from top to toe with humiliation, anger, and a deepening heat in his loins at the sight of the bulge in Glorfindel's leggings.

"You are incredibly beautiful," Glorfindel said at last. "What a pity your beauty hides such a spiteful heart."

Legolas lifted his head and forced himself to look into Glorfindel's heart-stoppingly brilliant blue eyes. "If you touch me, I will kill you." he said with smoldering slowness.

Glorfindel looked at him seriously. "I believe you would try, young prince," he said coolly, "but trying is not the same as succeeding, as you well know."

"Cut me loose and we shall see," Legolas said challengingly.

Glorfindel only smiled at him and shook his head. "It is you who chose to submit to me rather than run the gauntlet. It is too late to change your mind now."

"I did not choose this!" Legolas cried angrily. "My father, as is his wont, made the decision for me. I would run the gauntlet many times rather than submit to your touch."

Glorfindel frowned. "You did not choose this? I was told..."

"My father says many things," Legolas shot back, "most of which are lies. You seek to negotiate with him, know this if nothing else."

Glorfindel hesitated a moment but then reached out to run his fingers lightly over Legolas' chest, feeling the pounding of his heart through his taut skin. "Well, if you wish to try and kill me, I might as well give you cause," he sighed in a faraway voice. His gaze slid down Legolas' torso, admiring the oil-defined muscles of the prince's toned body, then Glorfindel looked up into his eyes with a shrewd smile, "It seems your father is not the only one who is less than truthful. You say you do not want my touch, yet your body tells me otherwise."

Legolas' nostrils flared when Glorfindel's fingers brushed his skin and his body pulsed with desire he could not hide. His facade of anger was in danger of melting away and he bolstered his resolve by suddenly spitting in Glorfindel's face.

"Untie me, you coward!" he ordered. "Let me show you how loathsome I find your touch."

Glorfindel stepped back and calmly wiped the spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand. He drew one of the knives from his scabbard and held it before Legolas' eyes. The prince swallowed hard, feeling his vulnerability most keenly at the look on Glorfindel's face.

"You have fire, Prince Legolas, but you have not control." Glorfindel said reprovingly. "Fire controlled provides light, warmth, forges metal into objects of beauty..." he held up the knife and ran a finger over the scrimshaw image, "death..." he ran a finger over the sharp edge, drawing blood, "or both." he finished, reaching to stroke Legolas' cheek with his thumb. Legolas jerked his head to one side defiantly. "But fire uncontrolled," Glorfindel continued, lowering his hand, "wounds and kills indiscriminately and destroys all it touches." He paused until Legolas turned his face forward then continued, "I will release you, but now you must earn it, my pompous prince."

"Earn it?" Legolas said shakily, "How?"

"By asking me to do so with respect," Glorfindel answered, looking at Legolas pointedly.

"Never!" Legolas persisted. "I have no respect for you and will not pretend I do. Just know that when you do free me, as you eventually must, you will pay for everything you do to me tenfold."

Glorfindel's eyes shone with fiendish intent. "I would expect no less." he said with an enigmatic smile.

Legolas did not understand the comment but he had no time to ponder it as Glorfindel stepped behind him. He tried to stay his trembling when the Noldo warrior ran a hand firmly over his back and buttocks as if he were a prize horse. And like a horse, Legolas' muscles twitched and quivered beneath the hand, as though trying to dislodge a pesky fly.

"Take your hands off me!" Legolas hissed.

In response, Glorfindel reached around and grasped Legolas' slowly burgeoning arousal, stroking up... down...up again. He leaned forward and teased the rim of the captive prince's ear with the very tip of his tongue. Legolas involuntarily closed his eyes and gasped at the firm gentleness of the twin actions, the calloused hand of the warrior upon his sex and the soft wetness of the tongue playing upon his ear.

Then a new sensation was added, a sharp sting upon his shoulder, and Legolas hissed at the slight, strangely seductive, pain. Glorfindel's tongue laved the sting, caressing and soothing it away as Legolas squirmed uneasily in his bonds.

"What was that?" he asked nervously, "What are you doing?"

Glorfindel chuckled but did not reply. Again his hand moved low upon the prince's body, and again Legolas felt the sting at his shoulder, followed by the soothing touch of the warrior's tongue. Legolas tried to shrug him off, his muscles roiling with the effort as Glorfindel took in the appealing view of the Sinda's rippling flesh and the pulse-quickening sight of the blood welling up in the shallow cuts he had made. He leaned in to lap warmly at the thin red line, savoring the taste of fear.

Legolas tried to fight the desire that Glorfindel coaxed from him with such astonishing skill, but every touch, every sting, only intensified his traitorous body's reaction and he shuddered, dread and excitement twining within his stomach, as another stroke/sting/lick enticed a small moan from his slightly parted lips.

"No," he whispered, "please."

Glorfindel put his mouth fully over the last wound he had inflicted and sucked ever-so-lightly while simultaneously snaking his sex-slick fingers upward from Legolas' seeping hardness to his nipples, tugging and twisting the tight little points he encountered there.

"Is this better then?" Glorfindel breathed into Legolas' ear. He followed the question with a small nip of his teeth upon the pointed tip and Legolas rocked his hips forward into empty air as the primal instinct to thrust instantly overcame him.

The golden Noldo took advantage of the compensating backward push to wedge his leather-clad bulge between naked buttocks. He pressed against Legolas and sheathed the knife he held, wrapping his arms around the prince's waist and holding him tightly to prevent the displacement of his thrumming arousal.

"Release me." Legolas moaned quietly.

"Say it with respect, prince." Glorfindel rasped, nuzzling his captive's neck through the silken curtain of his hair.

There was a moment of silence before Legolas finally spoke, his voice strained with need. "That is not what I meant." he muttered irritably.

Glorfindel's soft laughter against his neck sent a shiver down Legolas' spine.

"Have you no control even in this?" he chided gently.

Legolas' face burned, Glorfindel's words fueling his humiliation and also his desire. "I can take whatever you can give." he said boldly.

"I sincerely hope that is true." Glorfindel replied, freeing himself from his leggings and kicking them roughly away, pressing himself to Legolas again.

Legolas felt the rigid length at his back and his eyes widened in fear. It was impossible, he thought, panicked, as Glorfindel unfurled nearly halfway up his bare back. How did the Noldo even fit in his leggings?

Glorfindel smiled to feel Legolas tense against him and he pursued his advantage, rubbing slowly and provocatively against his back, letting him feel the throbbing heat permeate his lower body as he again reached around the prince to tend his neglected erection. For a time the only sound in the silent forest was the tandem panting of the two Elves as they writhed together. Then, as a downy snow began to fall, Glorfindel again unsheathed one of his knives and moved around to stand before Legolas.

The prince's eyes were clouded with lust as Glorfindel brought the knife to his skin, marking a razor-fine slice horizontally along the curve of one rib, licking his lips to see the bright red blood surface from the creamy flesh. Legolas held his breath and winced at the cut, but sighed with pleasure as Glorfindel's hot breath and warm tongue laved away the sharpness of the sting.

Legolas turned his face to the sky as snowflakes swirled and danced before his fevered gaze. The velvet crystals tickled pleasantly over his naked flesh and his heavy breath steamed around him as Glorfindel continued his sensual knife work. Each cut, each lick, each swipe of golden hair upon his body, each exhilarating touch upon his arousal took him higher, until the swirling of the snow and the swirling of his passion merged, enveloping him in a blinding cloud of timeless, endless, heedless rapture.

Then Glorfindel went down on his knees and made three of the horizontal shallow cuts on each of Legolas' quivering inner thighs, elevating each cut closer to his pulsing groin. The prince moaned in pain to be cut in so sensitive an area and whimpered in fear as Glorfindel cut higher.

"Easy, young prince," he murmured, licking a rivulet of blood from the shallow wound, "The taste of your fear is most certainly sweet, but you need not worry, no harm will befall your beautiful jewels."

The Noldo warrior tightly grasped Legolas' outer thighs and held him steady as he laved his way along each cut - back, then forward, then up to the next slice, his nose nuzzling Legolas' taut sac with each hungered lick. The prince's moan of distress became a whimper of approval as Glorfindel ascended and then, with a last lick at the highest cut on the right side, Glorfindel caught and cradled Legolas' tender orbs upon his tongue, balancing them for a moment before taking them in to suckle.

Legolas cried out, and for the first time since his ordeal began he thrashed mindlessly in his bonds, alarming the young trees to which he was bound. They whispered to each other and their branches shook, sending a skiff of snow onto Legolas’ head, down his body and onto his steaming arousal. The cascade of snow hissed and melted upon his arching heat, precipitously cooling the fire within his loins.

The timing of the incident could not have more fortuitous, for Legolas had been on the very edge of coming undone. Again the prince gave a small, breathless cry, this time of surprise, and Glorfindel released his shrunken orbs and took the fullness of him into his mouth. The heat, following the shocking cold, sent Legolas' brain into overload and he tried to rock hips still held firmly in Glorfindel's grasp. The golden warrior reveled in the taste, the aroma, of the blood and arousal that filled his senses as he rode the prince's restrained thrusts, his fingers firmly controlling each move as he kneaded the muscular, rhythmically clenching buttocks.

Glorfindel expertly took Legolas to the edge of ecstasy - then beyond, and the Sinda came with a Wood-Elf war cry, his head thrown back, his chest bared to the snowy trees above, the muscles of his limbs and torso etched into sharp relief by his pulsating aura and the traces of oil that streaked down his body, his ecstatic scream muffled by the snow-silenced forest.

Even after Legolas released into his waiting mouth, Glorfindel did not stop until the prince went limp and began to make small mewling sounds in the back of his throat, trying now to pull away rather than push forward. Glorfindel stood and lifted Legolas' chin, looking into his dazed, conquered eyes.

"I am sorry, my lord," Legolas murmured with sincerity, and Glorfindel knew exactly what he meant.

"Humility becomes you, my fair prince." Glorfindel answered with a praising smile.

He then stood in the falling snow and held out his hand, palm up. The glow of his aura brightened in the fading light and the falling flakes began to catch and gather upon his open hand until it formed a little ball. Legolas watched with open mouthed fascination at the sight of the golden warrior, standing tall and straight, the silver-blue of his aura shining strongly, his loose hair beneath his braids whipping around in the gusty breeze, his rigid pride a pillar of virility rising from his body in the dark, snow encrusted forest. When Glorfindel's hand was filled, he proceeded to rub the snow over Legolas' wounds, front and back, sealing and cooling away their throbbing hurt.

Legolas gasped at the cold but soon discovered the power of the Elf Lord had begun the healing process much faster than if the cuts had been allowed to mend naturally. He looked up into Glorfindel's sparkling blue eyes, clear headed and no longer the angry prince whose temper had caused him to be sacrificed to the Noldo warrior.

"Will you please remove these bonds now, my lord?" Legolas asked respectfully.

"I could do so," Glorfindel said, “or I could warm you first," he said, reaching down to stroke his formidable arousal.

Legolas looked down, then back up into Glorfindel's eyes.

"Perhaps you could untie me and we could warm each other." Legolas suggested with a cunning grin.

Glorfindel beamed at the suggestion and set about releasing Legolas from his hithlain bonds. The young trees gave a sigh of relief that the thrashing Elf was gone and began to sing happily, giving their branches a little shake. When Legolas was free, he rubbed briefly at his raw wrists and rolled his shoulders and shook out his legs to restore their heretofore restricted circulation.

The sight of the lean, clean-limbed Wood Elf in his unabashed nakedness caused Glorfindel's heat to surge. He seized Legolas by the shoulders and spun him to face one of the trees but Legolas pulled away and instead lay upon his back in the snow, stretching out and spreading his legs, looking up into Glorfindel's eyes invitingly.

"It is cold Elf Lord," he said with a bit of his former arrogance, "come warm me if you can."

Glorfindel flung himself upon the waiting prince, only to find Legolas not the easy catch he appeared, for he found himself seized, strong legs wrapping around his and rolling him over so that he lay beneath. At the same moment, Legolas managed to gain one of the knives from the scabbard on his back and place it at his throat. Glorfindel looked up in surprise, seeing the prince's eyes flare with triumph.

"Did I not say I would repay you tenfold?" Legolas asked, pressing the knife edge just deep enough to draw blood from Glorfindel's neck.

Glorfindel looked at him calmly. "So you did, Prince Thranduilion. But now that you have me, what do you propose to do with me?"

Legolas moved the knife back and leaned down to take Glorfindel's lips, forcing his tongue past reluctant teeth and plumbing the depths of the Noldo's warm throat.

Glorfindel reached up, his hands lightly touching Legolas' upper arms as he melted submissively into the forceful kiss. He felt Legolas relax almost imperceptibly and that was all the opening he needed to knock the knife away and seize Legolas' wrists in his hands, rolling them so that he was straddling the astonished prince, pinning his arms to the ground.

"Did you enjoy your momentary victory, young prince?" he asked with a smile.

Legolas growled and bucked beneath him but Glorfindel was too strong. Slowly, patiently, using his superior strength and weight, he managed to pin Legolas wrists in one hand and raise one of his legs with the other, positioning himself at the struggling prince's opening.

The vanquished Wood-Elf, seeing he was not going to win this round either, gasped out, "Will you not at least prepare me properly first?"

Glorfindel laughed, "And give you the chance to try to best me again? I think not, Legolas."

He entered Legolas with one powerful thrust, the prince's scream feeding his long delayed passion, but then he immediately paused, looking into the prince's eyes, tuning into the rhythms of his breathing and quivering muscles for any sign that his actions were ill-favored. But every nuance of Legolas' body, and the gaze of submission that fell upon him, showed the prince to be more than receptive, despite the tears of pain that sparkled for an instant in his cobalt eyes.

Glorfindel released the prince's wrists and Legolas reached for him, lifting his legs to allow the golden Noldo to deepen his thrusts. The length and breadth of Glorfindel filled Legolas gloriously, tapping into that place within that sent blistering eruptions of pleasure racing through his veins. As Glorfindel pounded into him, Legolas let his hands roam the strapping Noldo's body, exploring the contours of his back, his ribs, letting his fingers slide down to where their bodies met, teasing with his fingertips Glorfindel's length on each out stroke. The golden warrior gasped, his blue eyes going midnight with lust, and he lowered his head to bite at Legolas' neck, marking him possessively.

Legolas was beyond caring that his fellows would see, and report to his father, the evidence of his taming in the communal baths the next day. All he wanted at this moment was more of Glorfindel, more pleasure, more pain, more of anything the golden warrior wished to give him. He placed the flat of one hand against Glorfindel's belly, and took his own hardness in the other, stroking himself at the same pace as the Noldo's dancing muscles.

Every thrust, every rotation of his hips within the prince's narrow, rippling channel, brought Glorfindel closer to the peak of ecstasy he craved but sought to stay as long as possible. Legolas' touch, his yielding, nimble body, drove Glorfindel higher than he had been in a very long time and he would have remained in the snowy forest with this beautiful, fiery Wood-Elf for a hundred years if he could only slow the escalating need burning at his core.

Legolas, sensing Glorfindel's imminent release, took himself over the edge with two more frantic strokes, the throes of his ecstasy triggering the Noldo's orgasm as well. They undulated together, holding each other tightly, the heat from their steaming, tangled bodies creating a depression in the snowy grass. For a time they lay together, nipping and licking each other's necks and chests lightly, then Glorfindel finally rose and offered Legolas a hand up.

The prince stood, watching as Glorfindel retrieved and donned his discarded leggings then picked up the unsheathed knife and approached him. He lowered his eyes as Glorfindel stood before him, feeling uncharacteristically awkward and reticent.

The Noldo lifted his chin and looked into his eyes with admiration. "Your spirit is strong, young prince. You have only to learn to check your temper, learn the ways of diplomacy, and you will be a fine envoy for your people should you ever have cause to come to Imladris."

"I have acted abominably to you since you graced our borders, Elf Lord. I apologize for my behavior and hope your negotiations with my father go well, for the sake of both our peoples."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. He reached out casually and wiped the blood from Legolas' chest, erasing the smeared letter of protection he had written what now seemed so long ago. The golden warrior took his knife and cut the middle finger of his left hand, then wrote the first letter of his name on the prince's chest with his blood. With one last meaningful look at Legolas, he turned and strode away into the forest, his back straight, and his golden hair flowing behind him.

Legolas watched him go, his heart racing anew at the sight of the fluid muscles of the Noldo warrior's back and his buttocks through his tight leggings. He absently touched the letter written upon his breast and brought the finger to his mouth, smiling at the sweet tang of Glorfindel's blood upon his tongue.


End file.
